Lincoln

142 W. 65th St. (212-359-6500)

When Lincoln Center announced that it would build a restaurant on its campus—for a reported twenty million dollars—as part of a $1.2-billion redesign, and that Jonathan Benno, second-in-command to Thomas Keller at Per Se, would be the head chef, expectations were exceedingly high. The result, six months in, has a whiff of theme-park elegant. There’s a proficient team ready to serve the friendliest top-of-the-line Italian food this side of Fifty-ninth Street—with prices to match. The experience may begin, when you call for reservations, with a solicitous prerecorded message that includes English translations of primi and secondi, as if hedging against surprise were part of the whole grand package. When you get there, if you approach from Hearst Plaza, you will be treated to a vision of greatness. The roof—a sloping, grass-covered paraboloid called the Illumination Lawn—overlooks a reflecting pool adorned with a Henry Moore sculpture. Once inside the vast, pristine space, all futuristic glass walls and veneer angles, you can’t really see the grass or the pool, but there are views of the rear draperies of Avery Fisher Hall, the traffic on Sixty-fifth Street, or the kitchen. Pick the kitchen.

The menu, which changes daily, tends toward Italian classics gently tweaked. When asked, “Should I get Prosecco in my build-your-own negroni?,” the waitress, with her no-nonsense pants suit and dry sense of humor, replied, “I can’t believe we even offer that.” Mozzarella in Carrozza (cheese in a carriage) turned out to be no more than a hockey-puck-shaped disk of breaded fried cheese over puttanesca sauce. But a velvety green-garlic-and-broccoli purée with ricotta gnudi was ethereal, and the complimentary focaccia with rosemary, salt, and lardo should be sold by the bagful. Pastas are hit or miss. Gnocchi, though accompanied by a humdrum tomato sauce, was perfectly pillowy. Tortelli di Zucca did amazing things for kabocha squash, combining it with hazelnuts, amaretti, and brown butter—fantastic, if you like dessert for your primi. Linguini with sea urchin and crab, which sounded so good, was sadly overpowered by salt and scallions. The carne can be beautiful. Short ribs braised in red wine were meltingly tender; slow-roasted pork loin was juicy, if a bit bland, even when dressed with balsamic and guanciale.

If there’s still time before the show, have the gelato—the subtle honey fiore di latte that accompanied a mediocre hazelnut-chocolate-and-mascarpone torta was sublime. It was a Friday at 7:53 P.M., and the place was clearing out. A stoic bartender remarked, “This is the weirdest restaurant I’ve ever worked at. You encourage people to come sit at the bar at eight—you wouldn’t do that at Babbo.” Maybe not, but you also wouldn’t be a minute away from the Met. (Open weekdays for lunch and dinner and weekends for brunch and dinner. Entrées $18-$38.) ♦